Shack wacky.

I'm very out of sorts today, though Ben has been eyeing me particularly hungrily since I came downstairs dressed and ready to conquer whatever the hell it is I'm supposed to be doing today. I used my new Philosophy vanilla birthday cake shower gel and I smell so delicious you might find me in the corner later gnawing my own arms off after consuming my delicious knees first.

It's that good, yes. I've tried the other ones, this one seems heads above the rest in boy-popularity.

Lochlan is singing Lucky Man (The Verve, not Emerson, Lake and Palmer though on some days, you might be surprised.)and he won't stop and it's sort of beginning to seep into my brain and really I just need a little fresh air (because I ADORE the song) and maybe it's time the Christmas tree was removed because it makes me a little claustrophobic even though the house is huge and I can get away from it and I don't really know...I'm sure it's just cabin fever. Everyone is still too sick to go very far, however.

Some of you have sent in some ridiculously awesome suggestions too, regarding last evening's request for requests. Thank you. Look for them in the coming days because otherwise I will be out in the orchard in the pouring rain imploding. And smelling really good while I do.

Water wings.

If I owe you any stories, I may have forgotten. You can email me at saltwater princess at gmail dot com and I will do my best to post some catch-up entries. Sometimes I wade too deep into my own words and I dip underneath the rope that divides the swimming area from the drowning area and frankly I'm not sure what possessed me to come to the beach today anyway. It's not even warm out.

Lost my place. Long evening. Not sure what you WANT to read so why don't you just tell me.

For once. While I am open to writing for you, as opposed to writing for myself.

Thanks. :)

Christmas cravings.

The candy canes begin as a lark and quickly because weapons, bitten off and sucked to sharp points, crushed against bone and splinted into glittery mint fragments all over the bed. Pieces stick against my shoulders, in my hair, between my fingers. He is dusted with tiny shards. He is the most exquisite broken glass.

It hurts so much but I am loathe to give up first. Not a chance. I smiled and grit my teeth and he grabs a handful of my hair, pulling my face up, crushing a handful of candy canes with his fist, pouring them into my mouth and nose. I shake my head and lick my lips. I am sticky all over. I can't breathe. I fight for air, pinned down, feeling him eating the crushed pieces off my collarbone. I spread my hands out and try and push the remaining canes off the bed, succeeding only in moving them around, making a candy-cane angel where I lie.

He laughs and finds one last cane still intact, licking it, tracing my lips, leaving behind a cool tingle that distracts me. He holds it out for me to take and I suck on it, I am the queen of lethal Christmas cheer. I am the sugar queen. And he is my minty vampire with one cane hooked in each side of his mouth. Fangs made of peppermint.

I start laughing and it's too late. I'm going to be bitten by the monster of Christmas present and there's absolutely nothing I can do.

Oh darn.

tra·di·tion: \trə-di-shən\

Definition of TRADITION: A form of relaxation in which the entire household uses the holiday as great excuse to sleep in, stay in pajamas for the entire day, play with presents endlessly, catch up on laundry, claim leftovers (cake is mine, as always) and engage in low-level, inactive past times like watching things, reading things, listening to things and seeking each other out to have low conversations in quiet spaces.

I might even find the energy to light a candle or two but I doubt it.

Maybe later.

Light bulb.

We are full of turkey, stuffing, chocolate marquise and wine and still laughing after seeing Despicable Me.

The marvel of enjoying a bright Christmas day with temperatures hovering around ten degrees is such an incredible novelty I may never live it down. As does watching Ben expertly carve turkeys like it's something he does every damn day and now listening to Lochlan as he edits the pictures he took today.

Last night I listened to the boys sing for the candlelit service. Every blessing in my life has a name. Every gift I have ever received has a different combination of eye and hair colors, a different voice and a different hug methodology. They are my gifts.

I have been kissed and hugged and spoiled thoroughly. I have been coddled, in generous amounts of help with dinner, and I have been deceitful, in that I spent much of the day with a massive raging fever, unwilling to admit defeat because dammit, it's our first Christmas here and it was going to be perfect no matter what.

It was.

Will you read us a bedtime story?

No.

Pretty please?

The physical appearance of the please makes no difference.

Merry Christmas to you. XOX

"The torture of a bad conscience is the hell of a living soul." ~John Calvin

I went outside to cool off for a moment and found him standing on my verandah, leaning up against the siding, looking out into the woods. One hand was in his coat pocket, the other was wrapped around the handle of a large paper shopping bag, stuffed with wrapped presents. I didn't wrap these ones and I was sure I looked after everything. He already dropped off the presents for the children and I. We always exchange something. Besides vitriol, remembrance and bodily fluids, I mean.

What are you doing?

Stopping in to say hello.

We're heading out in an hour, Caleb.

I know. I just thought I would pop in, I won't stay though. You're having a busy day. I just needed to see you. Just for a minute.

Ben's Superman hearing led him outside and he pulled the door behind him.

Caleb.

Benjamin.

What brings you here today?

He changed demeanor before my very eyes.

I'm headed to a few functions tonight but I wanted to drop off a few things I had set aside. I don't have much time so I'll leave these with you. He passed the bag to Ben and shook his hand. Merry Christmas, brother.

You're not coming to church this evening?

We'll see. I'll do my best.

Fair enough. Ben took the bag and retreated back inside to a raucous amount of noise.

Don't, please.

Don't what?

Don't acknowledge my shortcomings, princess.

I had no intention of doing so.

You know, Bridget, they're very lucky. You're a gift. You know that?

I'm just trying to do the best I can.

I don't make things easy for you.

No, you don't.

It can't be helped.

Sure it could. And maybe you would be happier too.

If I made things easier?

Yes.

If you did that I'd be alone. I don't want that.

You wouldn't be. You have everything to offer someone.

Except my heart.

It was never my heart you were after, you just wanted to take what Lochlan had. How does jealousy grow into this?

I didn't count on you.

He whispers the last word and I know our conversation is over. He's not going to give me the satisfaction of seeing him break. Not today. He moves in and wraps his arms around me tightly, kissing my temple, squeezing me hard against him. His coat is rough and I lift my chin up. He presses his head against mine.

Merry Christmas, Bridget. I am in awe of the beautiful woman you have become, in spite of all of us.

I shake my head. I want to fight but he won't. Instead he kisses me full on the lips.

See you tomorrow.

I nod. He is coming for the morning, because we put Henry first. Henry wants his dad there, then his dad's going to be there. Only Henry doesn't know yet. It's a surprise. I can be a grownup.

I can be generous.

I can be really freaking late for dinner. It's an hours drive. Goodnight. Merry Christmas.

Because he's incorrigible, here are Ben's jokes for the night.

How do you know when there's a snowman in your bed?

You wake up wet.

***

What do vampires put on their turkey at Christmas?

Grave-y!

***

What does Dracula write on his Christmas cards?

"Best vicious of the season."

Princess flu bug.

I sat down with toast this morning and Lochlan slipped my wedding ring back on my finger without a word. He smiled, kissed the top of my head and Ben said Good Morning to him and poured him a cup of coffee.

Civility in the face of extreme weirdness always makes me so incredibly grateful.

I am burning up. A thousand degrees and my shoulders, knees and fingers ache and I'm loathe to admit that I think I have the flu even though I know I do. Everyone has taken their turn. Even Ben had one hell of a headache and was grumpy the past couple of days and he hardly ever gets sick. Henry is feeling better after struggling all week. Hopefully it's a fast-moving one because I have plans. Lots of plans that don't include curling up in the centre of my giant bed to ride out the worst of it.

I will blame Schuyler. He kisses goddamned near everybody. I'm going to start replacing his toothpaste with antibacterial hand sanitizer.

On that note, goodnight. Can't do it.

Christmas bonus (AKA pay the lady).

Ben leaves the front door and returns to the table with another envelope. This one is a pale pearl gold with a paper snowflake affixed to the flap. He puts it on the table in front of me and I don't need to see my name neatly printed on the front in Caleb's handwriting to know that it's from him. The color is new, however and so I raise my eyes from the envelope to meet Ben's face.

He nods. Ben just looks tired. Tired but beginning to relax and beginning to run out of patience and I'm not allowed out of his reach for the rest of my life, he says. I only wish he were serious.

I open it. Inside is a cheque for seven hundred and fifty dollars with a note on the memo line that says 'bonus'. A post-it note attached says 'Is this better?'

I stifle a laugh. The formality of this, what I asked for instead of the unwelcome entire legacy of our blended, dysfunctional family makes me feel vaguely silly. But the fact that Caleb wrote it out and had it delivered anyway after I asked for a fair amount based on the work I did for the company means I must be doing something right.

Small victories. Even as he surgically removes the rest of my dignity with his patented incision-free technique.

He pushed his head against mine. He's warm. I am cold on the inside, blood running over sheets of crackling thin ice, breaking with every breath. His hand drops from my head to my hand and he pulls it up between us and slides off my ring. I argue softly but he ignores me. His eyes are flashing, pupils dilated. He puts my ring in his pocket and I watch it disappear. It's a rule I don't subscribe to but I understand.

He bends his head down again and kisses my ear. I lift my chin up and rest it against his shoulder as his arms tighten around me. I whisper things under my breath and he responds with light squeezes. He can hear me. I cannot hear myself. I pull him in against me and he responds by pushing me down, his weight the only leverage he will need. His hands are feeling for the zipper on the side of my dress while his lips crush against mine, biting. Breathing me in. It's dark but our eyes are not adjusting. He gives up and reaches for the hem instead, pulling it up, shoving the fabric out of his way. The dress is between us, the beading digging into his flesh, straps pinning my arms down. He grabs the worst one with his hand and pulls until it rips away and I protest and he immediately covers my mouth. Silence is easier. I am lifted up and pulled in close against the uncanny warmth of his skin. All business now, we aren't going to give away anything here. We aren't going to bow to the whims of the shadows standing nearby, cuff links glinting in the pitch-black night.

His hand comes down from my mouth as he finds his way home and it wraps around my throat. I am helpless now, clinging to the waves of euphoria. It's an eternity. I know that he is close and he presses his head down against mine again and I am already turning blue, clawing for precious air with no strength, held captive with no means to save myself and all I can do is wait for rescue. I am three lifetimes ago and I can hear the calliope and his curls are in my mouth and his breath is hot against my shoulders and finally he lets go and he never fails to land a kiss on my shoulder as he pulls me up. I come back to life.

He whispers loudly that the shadows will fade. He takes his time. Checking to be sure he left no marks. Checking to be sure he left no feelings of afraid or of sad for Bridget to trip over or fall into. Telling himself it's all going to be okay because she can't hear him. He doesn't dare speak any louder.

While I slept on my ring was taken. When at last the shadows stopped watching I lost my mind.